Parts of the Night
by CrestfallenCatharsis
Summary: He knows her like the back of his hand...except tonight his hand looks awfully unfamiliar. For SoMa Week 2017! -Oneshot-


**Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater or any of its characters-they belong to Atsushi Okubo. SoMa Week Day 3: Clothes.**

 **XxX**

He hated this part.

"Soul, slow down!" the pigtailed girl sitting behind him shouted. He grinned, his unnaturally sharp teeth gleaming in the sinking sunlight. He did the opposite of what she told him, speeding faster down the empty back road on his electric orange motorcycle. The bright green trees were nothing but a blur as they zipped by them.

"Soul!" she screamed at him again. He could hear her coat flapping in the wind as they drove, whipping ferociously in tune with his laughter. He was testing her. He knew she was gripping the handle under her seat as hard as she could. She had always held onto that handle-how fast and reckless did he have to drive until she felt she had to put her hands on to something else?

"You're going to drive right past it if you don't slow the hell down!" she warned. Soul cursed, slamming on the breaks as they came close to their destination. He made a sharp turn into the driveway and parked by the porch steps.

"You're going to kill someone driving like that all the time," Maka said, lifting her leg over the leather seat. Soul scoffed, taking off his helmet and shaking out his snowy hair. Maka did the same with her dirty blonde pigtails.

"Maybe _you're_ going to get killed holding on to that damn handle," he retorted. She scrunched up her face in angry confusion. Soul noticed her nose wrinkled in a peculiar way that it always does when she makes a face like that.

"What are you talking about? Isn't that what it's there for?" she questioned, gesturing to it with her hand. He rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. Let's just go inside already," he said, waving her off and turning to walk up the stairs. Maka crossed her arms over her chest and followed him.

"Hey, guys! I thought I heard a motorcycle out here," Liz welcomed them as they reached the door. "Drinks are inside."

When Maka and Soul entered, the strong smell of booze filled their noses. Soul sighed, lamenting the fact that he was designated driver this time. He looked behind him to say something to Maka, but she was already gone. He searched the room to find her laughing with Tsubaki.

"Yo! You came!" a certain blue-haired assassin cheered as he slumped one arm around Soul's shoulder.

"Hey, Black Star," he responded, grimacing at the overpowering smell of beer wafting from his mouth, which was far too close to his own face for comfort.

"Come over here. We're playing beer pong!" he tried coaxing him. He waved the red plastic cup in Soul's face as if it would tempt him, but only resulted in a spillage onto the drunk boy's arm. He didn't seem to notice-that, or he didn't care-as he proceeded to chug the rest of the drink, a resounding _ahh_ to finish it off.

"Sounds like fun," Soul said, attempting to get out of his grasp. "But, I can't tonight. I'm driving."

"The amazing Black Star doesn't need you anyway!" he slurred. He gave a bellowing laugh as he exited the room-probably to get another beer. Soul snickered as he watched the guy tumble numerous times on his way. Shaking his head, Soul sauntered into the kitchen.

Surrounding him were cups upon cups upon cups. There were shiny red pieces of plastic all over the counters, some stacked in one another like they were packaged, but mostly strewn about randomly. Unsure of whether to trust the sanitation of any cup, he grabbed a coke from the refrigerator and drank it straight from the can.

"Soul!" a voice called to him. He poked his head around the corner to find the source, and saw Blair waving him over. Soul groaned; Blair on her own was a disaster waiting to happen, but Blair plus alcohol equaled disaster times five.

"Soul-y! I want to show you something!" she yelled to him again. He begrudgingly made his way over to her, stepping past a sobbing Kid spewing nonsense about a spilled can of soda. He reassuringly pat him on the back as he passed.

"Look!" Blair shouted. She was sitting on the arm of a sofa in her usual lingerie and witch hat. She gestured to her left with one hand, an entire bottle of wine in the other. Soul looked to see what she was showing him and nearly spat his beverage out. There in front of him was Maka, holding cards in her hand, topless.

Okay, so she wasn't _topless_ , but she had removed her button-up blouse, revealing a tight tan camisole. However, it may as well been topless to him. In all the ten years they have lived in the same apartment, he has never seen her in something like _this_. The only exception being a swimsuit, but she hates swimming, so he hardly ever sees her in it.

"It's strip poker," Blair purred. Soul eyed her accusingly. Of course this was her idea. He looked back at Maka and watched her play, his gaze occasionally falling to the outline of her bra showing itself through the stretchy fabric. When she would reach across the coffee table, a bit of the lace lining would peek out of the arm hole. He hadn't had any alcohol, but he felt warm.

"Maka, you're so bad at this game. Strip, strip, strip!" Patty cheered, clapping her hands together. Soul began to sweat as Maka slipped off her thigh-high stockings, exposing her long, smooth legs. He spun on his heels and swiftly left the room.

Soul turned on the bathroom sink and stared at himself in the mirror. His cheeks were flushed-a shade of red that could only be matched by his own crimson-colored irises. He ducked his head down and cupped some cold water in his hands. He paused, a commotion outside the door capturing his attention. After the noises subsided, he brought the liquid up and splashed his face. He gripped the sides of the sink and looked at his reflection again, furrowing his brow. He whispered curses at that meddling feline.

"Whoops," a voice said as the bathroom door flung open. Soul realized he forgot to lock the door just as a pair of clover eyes met his. Maka had opened the door, wearing nothing but her plaid skirt and tan camisole, which appeared to be wet.

"Blair spilled some vodka on me," she explained. Soul nodded, unable to formulate words since all his brain power was focused on refraining from getting a nosebleed.

"Could you, um, help me?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side. He blinked, still holding the porcelain sink under his fingers. What did she just say? Was he dreaming?

"Here," she said, offering him a hand towel. "Run this under water."

"Sure," he finally managed to speak. He released the sink and took the cloth from her. He noticed he had been staring at her, and he ripped his eyes away to turn the faucet back on. As he was soaking the towel, he was acutely aware of his meister sitting on the toilet behind him. He did his best to calm down before turning to face her.

She was drunk. She had to be. There was no other explanation as to why she was pulling her shirt away from her chest, letting Soul see much, _much_ more than just the lace lining. He froze, the sopping wet towel dripping onto the tile floor. His eyes were virtually glued to her chest. This was most definitely a dream.

"Oh, thanks," she said, holding a hand out to accept the cloth, the other continuing to pull on the camisole. Soul did not move-at least, it didn't register in his mind that he did. His movements were robotic, as if he were on autopilot. The towel somehow ended up in her grasp.

He watched her as she carefully wiped and dabbed the alcohol on her clothing. She reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, which Soul's eyes followed, resulting in a glimpse of her neck. Then, he shifted his gaze upward to her mouth. She was licking her lips, as she always does when she's concentrating. He never thought of it as more than a simple habit of hers, but at that moment, he was totally, utterly mesmerized at the way her tongue glided over her pink lips.

"Damn thing..." she muttered to herself. It was then he realized he had been licking his own lips, a bit of drool dribbling down the corner of his mouth. He quickly wiped it on his sleeve.

"Hold this for a second," Maka demanded, giving Soul the towel back. He took it, a questioning look on his face. He saw that her shirt had absorbed even more liquid from the wet cloth.

Then she made a criss-cross motion with her arms, grabbed the bottom of her shirt in each hand, and pulled it over her head.

"H-Hey! Wait a sec," Soul protested, shielding his eyes with the towel. He tried backing away, but forgot that there was a sink behind him and subsequently hit his backside against it, causing it to rattle and make a tube of toothpaste fall into the basin. She was _definitely_ drunk.

"What? Never seen a girl's chest before?" she teased, snatching the cloth away from him and tossing it in the sink. Soul covered his eyes with his hands as a replacement.

"Give me your jacket," Maka said. Soul immediately removed his hands, too baffled to care.

"W-What? Why?" he stuttered. He accidentally caught a glimpse of her bra and gulped. His vision was momentarily filled with black and red striped silk.

"You want me to walk around without a shirt on for the rest of the night?" she asked in response.

 _Well_...

"Where did your blouse go?" he asked.

"Blair spilled wine on that one," she replied, her face scrunching up in distaste. He sighed.

"Alright, fine," he submitted. He proceeded to take off his leather jacket, avoiding making eye contact with the bra again. He looked downward at his feet, which instantly backfired when he found himself staring at her bare legs instead. He hesitantly moved his stare up, up, up...

He wondered if she was wearing matching underwear.

"Thanks," Maka spoke, breaking him out of his trance. He cleared his throat, which had become dry suddenly. She stuck her arms in both sleeves and, for a second, Soul soaked in the scene before him. Maka was wearing his jacket over her lingerie and a mini skirt. She's worn his jackets and sweatshirts and things before, but never has it arose a reaction in him like this. He felt a sense of pride, of possession, like she was his and his jacket showed it off to the world.

"Well, I'd better get back out there. Thanks again," Maka giggled as she opened the bathroom door to leave. Before she left, she poked Soul on the nose with a _boop_.

Yep. Drunk.

 **XxX**

"Soul, I don't wanna go," Maka whined as he dragged her to the motorcycle. She had one arm around his shoulder while he was supporting her drunken fumbles. Never had she been this drunk before.

"I know, but we have to," he grunted as he attempted to direct her down the porch steps safely. He almost lost her when her foot caught on a nail sticking out of a board.

"Soul, you're really nice," she said cheerily as he lifted her onto her seat. She reached up and stroked her fingers down his cheek.

"Thank you, Maka," he replied as he gently placed the helmet on her head. When he bent his head down to find the helmet strap in the dim light, she leaned her face in and touched their noses together.

For a minute, Soul stopped moving. She stared into his eyes and he stared into hers. He could feel her warm breath on his lips-it smelled like booze, but he didn't care. He didn't even mind that the early spring breeze was causing goosebumps up and down his arms. Nothing mattered to him in that moment except her.

"Ha!" Maka laughed as she pulled away. Soul collected himself, found the helmet buckle, and snapped it together. He did the same with his helmet, then took his seat in front of her. It dawned on him that she wouldn't be able to hold on to her handle in her condition-he wouldn't be comfortable with that. She might let go out of a drunken stupor or fall asleep and slip off.

"Listen to me, Maka. You need to hold on to me," he said to her. She nodded comically, then slid her arms around his waist.

"You need to hold on tight, okay? So I can tell if you're letting go," he continued. She nodded again, this time a little less exaggeratedly. She glided her hands up his chest so that she was basically hugging him from behind and gripped his shirt. The leather jacket was rough on his back, but when he felt her rest her cheek at the base of his neck, it was like the jacket wasn't there at all.

"Here we go," he whispered to himself. He started the motorcycle and put up the kickstand. As tenderly as he could so as not to disturb her, he slowly drove away from the house.

"I wanna stay," Maka grumbled before Soul turned out of the driveway.

"We have to go, Maka," he said.

"Wanna stay," she repeated, this time clutching his shirt tighter. It was then he realized she wasn't talking about the house. He smiled. Yeah, he loved this part.

 **XxX**

Bonus: Soul found her bra in the laundry a few days later. He suddenly smelled something weird, so he brought it closer to his face to check if it was coming from that. It was. It smelled like vodka. Damned cat.

Of course, Maka walked into the laundry room at that exact moment, and she will forever call him the pervy bra sniffer.


End file.
